


words that you said

by mydearestcece



Category: The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo - Taylor Jenkins Reid
Genre: AU - Singer Songwriter Celia St. James, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Infidelity, mentions of other husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26613715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydearestcece/pseuds/mydearestcece
Summary: In a world where Celia St. James was never a threat to Evelyn's career, their relationship still blossomed. Evelyn remained an Oscar winning actress, while Celia made her way to fame writing her truth in the form of song. Barriers to their relationship remained, but how differently would they address this?
Relationships: Evelyn Hugo/Celia St. James
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	words that you said

Evelyn smiled and braced herself for the storm. 

It killed her to do, because Celia looked at her with such hope. There was a nervous grin painted across her face as she patiently waited for Evelyn to finish reading.

“Sweetheart, you can’t release this.” 

Immediately, the veiled excitement crumbled and Celia’s jaw tightened, ready to fight her corner. She must have foreseen this, and had her argument ready.

“There’s nothing in there that suggests it’s about you!” It was true, the lyrics were vague enough when it came to the subject’s physical appearance and this draft was at least gender neutral. Still, the pain of sharing one’s muse was probably not one that Celia’s listeners would associate with an athlete. 

“There’s nothing in there that suggests it’s about _John_.” When Celia and John began ‘courting’, it had been the perfect cover. Celia would write her songs and throw in the occasional lyric that would lead fans in the right direction. His hair colour, some little joke the papers had made about the two of them. But the longer their engagement lasted, the less Celia felt inclined to do so. Evelyn could tell that she was frustrated. Even now, she looked down at the lyrics and her demeanour became more frantic. 

“It’s honest! It’s truthful, Evelyn, it’s about my love for you! Most people would have the decency to pretend to be flattered at least!” Evelyn wasn’t so sure that she agreed it was truthful in the strictest sense of the word. True, it was Celia’s perception of Evelyn’s life and work, but that didn’t make it accurate. Evelyn refrained from pointing this out, still hoping to avoid a fight. 

“I love that our love inspires you, Celia. I _hate_ to hear you singing about somebody else.” 

“You know that I don’t love John.” Her temper waned, and she stepped closer to where Evelyn sat on the king-size bed, not quite reaching out to close the distance between them but no longer ready to attack. 

“I _know_ that. I know that what we have is special. What Harry and John have is special, too.” She crooned, taking Celia’s hand in hers. For a moment, it seemed that the subject was at rest. “That’s why it’s so important to keep up this image.”

As quickly as the eye of the storm arrived, it had passed and Celia flounced towards the door in a way that captivated Evelyn when they had first met. Now, it just told her that Celia expected _her_ to be the one to apologize first. 

“You don’t understand! You speak other people’s words and play a part, but I won’t do that. It’s about more than just our relationship, it’s about my creative integrity, Evelyn, and I won’t give that up!” When Celia left the room, Evelyn knew that she wasn’t going to get her way. John was not going to find his way into that particular song, and that much seemed final.

In the end, the solution had been Harry’s. He had always known how to handle these situations delicately, and it had seemed a good idea at the time. Mick Riva was in town for a show, and the idea that the song be turned into a duet was better met than a simple lyric change. Evelyn had accompanied Celia to the studio a couple of times. Mick was a charming man, if a little slimy. The fact that he was recently divorced hadn’t stopped him from making a pass at both Evelyn and Celia. And the fact that Celia had no interest in men made the first live performance no more bearable to Evelyn. 

Sub Rosa was ablaze, declaring the pair a perfect match and noting the visible electricity between Mick and Celia. Within a month, Celia had called off her engagement to John. Creative integrity was one thing, but an easy way out of a difficult situation seemed to appeal to Celia more. She couldn’t stay with Evelyn if she couldn’t be honest in her one true pursuit. After that, the song being written for her was little comfort when the song plagued her car radio.

* * *

Celia’s third album was released a week before Evelyn’s wedding to Max Girard. More than two years had passed since Celia and Mick won a pair of Grammys for their second collaboration, this one not penned by Celia and far less favourably met by the press. Though it was highly awarded, it was clear by then that Mick had no interest in Celia, and so people lost interest. Evelyn knew that the feeling was more than mutual, but Celia couldn’t very well tell reporters that. The new album was an opportunity to set the record straight, to repair her image.

Evelyn had no intention of listening to it. It would do no good, and would only tell her things she desperately did not want to know. She was happy with Max. Where Celia found her happiness wasn’t Evelyn's business. 

When Max had placed the record on Evelyn’s vanity and pressed a kiss to her head, he was obviously pleased with himself. Celia was, as far as he was aware, an old friend. It would be nice to hear her voice, he told her. He couldn’t have known how it would upset Evelyn. Max worshipped Evelyn in a way that men hadn’t for years, and often showed his love with gifts. Evelyn told herself that she still wouldn’t listen. Even as she thought it, a second voice told her she was lying. The moment that Max left her house, Evelyn was carefully placing the arm onto the disc and pouring herself a glass of wine. 

The first crackle of life set Evelyn’s hair on end and she settled on the plush carpet, afraid that she might spill the wine if she stood. 

The first song was one that Celia obviously hoped would do well commercially. The lyrics were about finding herself, and finding her way back to Hollywood. Even years after she left Evelyn, something kept bringing Celia back to Tinseltown. Perhaps it was the many actresses she had befriended over the years, or perhaps it was just the constant stream of paparazzi that Celia liked. 

The second song was far less generic. From the first verse, Evelyn knew that it was about her. There was a pit growing in her stomach, and her favourite wine suddenly made her nauseous. 

Part of her wanted to convince herself that the song was for another woman. Celia had been spotted with others, not that Evelyn paid any attention. In the end, she couldn’t decide which was worse; the thought that somebody else might have caused Celia such pain, or the thought that _she_ had. Evelyn wondered for a moment who Celia’s fans would attribute the song to, but she knew that didn’t matter. Celia had never valued the safety of a cover story the way that Evelyn had. 

With her wedding days away and two glasses of wine threatening to make their way back up, the matter seemed urgent. Scrambling around in her bedroom, Evelyn first thought to write Celia. But the thought of waiting days for a reply changed her mind. She didn’t have days to wait. 

Evelyn’s fingers fumbled as she dialled Celia’s number, one she had almost called hundreds of times over the past four years. She knew it by heart, even slightly intoxicated as she was. 

“Celia?” She heard a deep breath on the other end of the phone, and for a moment thought that Celia would simply hang up. 

“Yes, this is Celia St. James. May I ask who I’m speaking to, so late at night?” Her voice was stiff, but there was an edge to the final part. She knew that it was Evelyn, she had to. 

“I listened to your songs, Celia.” Evelyn paced as far from the telephone as she could, the wire caught between her fingers. “Well, I didn’t listen to them all, just the first two. I’ll listen to the rest, if you like.” 

“Well, like I said, it’s very late to be calling.” Once she was over the shock of hearing Celia’s voice again, real and soft and speaking to _her_ , Evelyn realized something. 

“Is there somebody there with you?”

“Yes.” Evelyn didn’t know if it spoke more about her ego or the wine that she didn’t stop to consider why somebody would be with Celia so late. Whoever it was, they were irrelevant now, as Max was irrelevant. 

“Fine, then just answer my question. Do you still love me?” There was a slightly longer pause, and Evelyn could hear the faintest murmurings of another voice.

“Yes.” Celia’s voice was strained, and Evelyn could almost hear the exasperated whine of ‘ _Evelyn_ ’ that she was holding back. “Look, maybe we can schedule something for next week.”

“Next week is too late.” Evelyn couldn’t wait that long. The dress she had bought was nowhere close to a traditional wedding gown, and yet the image of a runaway bride would still be tantalizing to Sub Rosa. “Come and see me right now.” Over the phone, she imagined that she could hear the struggle in Celia’s mind. It was late, and she had company. If she were to dance to Evelyn’s drunken whims, she would need to make excuses. It wasn’t exactly Celia’s style.

“If the matter is so urgent, then of course I’ll be right over.”

Standing in the doorway, Celia looked as gorgeous as she ever had. She’d never had much of an appetite for drugs and rock and roll, and the years had been kind to her. Her red hair was shorter than Evelyn remembered. Style had changed, and Evelyn didn’t remember how her hair had looked the last time she’d seen Celia. Self-consciously, she reached up to touch the blonde locks. The thought passed in a moment and Evelyn was rushing forward to Celia. It had been years, and yet she was certain that Celia’s feelings for her had not changed, as her own had stayed the same. 

Before she had the chance to reach out to her, to kiss her or to hold her, Celia turned away. As angelic as she appeared, bathed in warm light against the darkness, she was not happy. For the first time, Evelyn gave a moment’s thought to the company Celia had when she called. But if it was somebody so important, Celia wouldn’t have been standing on Evelyn’s doorstep, would she?

“You’re drunk,” If that was an explanation of her hesitancy, Evelyn didn’t see the relevancy. They had been drunk together, many times. The height of their respective careers had been one flowing bottle of champagne after another. “We have to talk about this.”

Celia walked past her, then. She looked around at the marble floors and hanging portraits, barely changed in her absence. Where a shot of her and Evelyn once hung was now a more recent picture of Harry and Connor, taken the previous Christmas. “Is Connor sleeping?” She asked, voice lower now. 

“She’s with Harry.”

“Alright.”

“Celia, if you wanted to talk—“

“Not tonight, Evelyn.” Celia shrugged off her fur coat, probably a fake, and let out a deep sigh. She seemed much calmer than she had on the doorstep, or on the phone. More sure of herself. “There are things we need to talk about, and I won’t do it while you’re drunk.” Evelyn thought about protesting that, but since Celia had ended their call to come over, she had polished off the bottle of wine. 

“Will you stay tonight?” Celia nodded, a little flustered. Perhaps she had assumed that much was already decided. 

When Evelyn reached out to her once again, Celia’s hand met hers, fingers hesitant and soft as their eyes met. Evelyn wanted desperately to push for more, to stake her claim. But she wouldn’t have the night tainted by rejection. She and Celia were alone for the first time in years, and that was enough for now. “We’ll talk in the morning,” She told Celia. Harry had Connor for the rest of the weekend, and Max had made no mention of stopping by. That gave her plenty of time to figure things out with Celia. 

Regardless of what happened, she knew that she wouldn’t marry Max. He adored her. He was humorous, and he made her feel special. For a while, that had seemed enough, had seemed to ease the ache she felt. But it was nothing compared to the electricity she felt with Celia, the way each moment felt magnified as they walked hand in hand to the stairs. Celia radiated nerves, and she was taken back to the beginning of their relationship. Hesitant kisses and searching looks, each trying to read the other before giving away too much of themselves. It hit Evelyn then that though Celia had admitted her feelings remained unchanged, she hadn’t done the same. She stopped midway up the stairs and cupped the familiar face in her hands. 

“I won’t marry Max, Celia. Whether you want me or not, I’m yours.” Celia opened her mouth to respond, but Evelyn interrupted her. She had been holding onto this for years, and was not going to wait any longer. “I’m far too old and forgotten to need to hide anymore, Celia. I can’t hold your hand in the streets, or marry you the way I would if I could, but I won’t marry another man to hide my love for you. I’d rather fade to irrelevancy, and follow you about, watching you perform.” Evelyn didn’t know if she had convinced Celia, but her face was very serious and she seemed unsure of how to respond. It was a big declaration, one she had made before and been unable to keep her word. But she had seen what was important in life now. She had Connor, and Harry. Oscars under her belt. Nothing else mattered if she had to carry this same longing with her for the rest of her life. 

“We’ll talk about it in the morning.” She was clearly trying to keep it together, but Evelyn could see the tears beginning to form now, and thought back on her words. 

“Just don’t perform that song with Mick again, please.” It was a silly request for the moment, and Celia laughed, turning her head to kiss Evelyn’s hand before taking it in her own once more and leading the actress up the stairs. 

“In the morning, Evelyn.”

“In the morning,” She agreed, willing to give into Celia again.

**Author's Note:**

> Proof-reading is not in my vocabulary, sue me.


End file.
